


Living

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Presumed Dead, Reunions, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gokudera thought making it back after almost dying would be the hard part." Gokudera nearly dies, and Yamamoto doesn't take the thought of losing him well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyFiamma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/gifts).



Gokudera thought making it back after almost dying would be the hard part.

He’s spent the last month thinking about the inevitable reunion, imagining the expressions that will greet him when he makes his miraculous reappearance. Some nights it pushed him into an extra hour, an extra mile of travel; some nights he didn’t bother with sleep for the adrenaline of expectation. By the time he makes it past the borders of the city he’s shaking from excitement as much as from the exertion, can’t control the tremble of his hand when he finally lifts his hand to knock at Tsuna’s door.

It’s the best place to go. He has a responsibility to report back to the Tenth as soon as possible, to let the family know that he is alive against all odds, and if he’s hoping desperately that Yamamoto is there too, well, it doesn’t change his duties. He has to stuff his hands in his pockets to hide the shake, bite his lip to fight back the giddy smile of anticipation, and then the door comes open and it’s Tsuna on the other side.

His eyes go wide, wider than Gokudera has ever seen them. He looks like he’s about to cry, or maybe shout, like he’s trying on several expressions in a row before finally settling on blank shock. “Gokudera-kun?”

“Tenth,” Gokudera says, and it’s not until the word is out of his throat that he realizes it sounds like a sob. “I’m back.”

Tsuna’s the one who moves, who does what Gokudera can’t manage and flings himself across the distance to hug the other boy. His hold is reassuring, tight and steady so it soothes the worst of the tightness from Gokudera’s throat, but Gokudera can’t get his arms up to return the gesture. He’s looking past Tsuna’s shoulder, into the noise and light of the house like he can somehow call Yamamoto to him. There’s motion -- but no, that’s Bianchi, and Haru with her, and Kyoko and Ryohei and Lambo all tumbling forward in a surge of motion but no Yamamoto. He’s tall enough that Gokudera is sure he could see him over everyone else’s heads, laughs warm enough Gokudera is sure he could recognize it over the excited babble of confused delight and overemotional tears, but there’s nothing, no laugh and no smile and no Yamamoto as far as he can see.

Gokudera’s going through his second round of hugs, having managed to free his hands from his pockets so he can start actually reciprocating Ryohei’s too-tight hold on him and touch his sister’s shoulder in awkward comfort while she fogs her goggles (the ones she’s still wearing, like she thought he would actually come back) with tears so violent they shake all through her, when he finally trusts his throat and his composure enough to attempt nonchalance. “Is the baseball idiot at practice or something?”

The hush that falls is instantaneous and thorough, sweeps out over everyone until even Lambo goes silent, and Gokudera’s skin prickles with foreboding. Bianchi’s arms tighten around him, more like she’s trying to protect him now than to hold onto him, and Ryohei reaches out for Gokudera’s shoulder like he bracing him for a blow. But it’s Tsuna who speaks, rocking back from the crowd and taking the lead without thinking, his role as a leader suiting him better now than Gokudera has ever seen it before.

“Yamamoto’s not doing well,” he says, and there’s sympathy in his eyes in the moment before he looks down and away from Gokudera’s gaze. “He’s at his home.”

“He thought you were dead,” Reborn puts in, his voice clear and carrying so Gokudera can’t miss the words. “He refused to eat when we got back.”

“What?” Gokudera says past lips numb with disbelief.

“He’s pining.” That’s Bianchi, against his shoulder, and her arms draw tighter still for a moment.

“Fuck that,” Gokudera says, moves to pull his shoulder away from Ryohei’s hold. “That is not funny. Where the fuck  _is_  he?”

Tsuna hunches in over himself, like he’s expecting a true explosion. “He’s at his home,” he repeats. His eyes are still sympathetic, as if this isn’t some terribly timed practical joke.

“Fine.” Gokudera steps back and Bianchi lets him go. Everyone is looking at him, now, that eerie silence still hovering over everyone. “Whatever, I’ll go find him there.”

They let him. That’s the most terrifying part of all, that when Gokudera turns to stomp towards the gate there’s no one that yells at him to come back, no admission of a prank to offset the cold fright in his blood. He thinks about it as he turns the corner, as he paces down the block with deliberately careful steps in case someone wants to come after him. There’s no way Yamamoto would take his assumed death so hard, he’s sure of it, there’s no way  _anyone_  could care that much about him and definitely not the perpetually-happy baseball idiot. But it was  _everyone_  that went quiet, and Ryohei can’t keep secrets, and Tsuna has never been very good at acting, Gokudera knows, and the sorrow in his eyes…

He starts to run. It’s several blocks, still, and just because his injuries are healed doesn’t mean he’s fully recovered yet, but it’s not a conscious decision, and he can’t slow down once he starts. He speeds up instead, arrives at TakeSushi overheated and breathless and utterly incapable of delaying enough to catch his breath.

The restaurant is half-full when Gokudera pulls the door open; a handful of people glance at him, more turn as he pants in the doorway, but Yamamoto Tsuyoshi is staring at him from the other side of the restaurant like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Where’s Yamamoto?” Gokudera blurts. “I mean. Takeshi, where is Takeshi?”

The older man points upstairs without speaking. Gokudera nods thanks, darts through the restaurant with complete disregard for the strangers staring at him and takes the stairs as fast as he can manage. He’s gasping for air by the top landing but there’s no time, his skin is prickling with panic and anticipation and fear all together. He stumbles down the hall, the space uncanny in its familiarity, grabs at the door to Yamamoto’s room and pulls it open without any attempt at greeting or warning.

And there he is, just like that, the long line of his body stretched out across the bed so all Gokudera can see of him is his back, but that’s enough, it’s enough for Gokudera to go still in the doorway, gasp a breath so he can say, “Takeshi?” into the weird quiet of the room.

Yamamoto makes a sound, a hum of protest far back in his throat as he shifts on the bed. “Gokudera?” He rolls over, turns his head to blink at Gokudera, and for a heartbeat everything is right in the world, all the pieces of Gokudera’s imagined reunion fall into place.

Then Gokudera blinks, and the shadows come back in, catch under Yamamoto’s eyes into the purple-black of continued insomnia, hollow out his cheeks and draw deep divots against the edge of collarbone Gokudera can just see. His shirt is hanging on him, looser than it should be, and he shouldn’t be in bed right now, it’s the middle of the day and the restaurant is open and -- and Yamamoto smiles, and that’s familiar, that’s  _right_ , that’s what Gokudera needed, and he’s coming forward well before Yamamoto pushes himself up on an elbow and reaches out for him. Gokudera’s hand is against his before he thinks about returning the gesture, his fingers catching on the too-thin shape of the other’s hand, the knuckles drawn clear under the skin as they never were before, but he’s too close to stop now, he’s toppling to fall onto the bed and Yamamoto is sliding  back like he expected it, wrapping his free arm around Gokudera’s waist and pulling him down to the mattress as he presses his exhaustion-marked features against the other’s shirt. When he breathes in it’s long and slow and deep, like he’s drawing Gokudera directly into his lungs, and Gokudera is choking on his breathing and twisting his fingers into a fist in Yamamoto’s hair and curling in over the other like he can protect Yamamoto from himself.

“What have you been  _doing_?” he manages, the words coming out damp and strained and agonized. “You look like you haven’t slept since I saw you last.”

“I don’t think I have,” Yamamoto says against his shirt, his breathing blowing warm through the fabric. He’s still taking deep breaths, like he’s just come up from drowning, and Gokudera’s vision is going blurred from liquid and his throat is agonizingly tight.

“You can’t--” he starts, cuts himself off with the tears pushing at his throat. When he manages a breath it shakes in his shoulders, turns into an audible sob, and this is all wrong, he wasn’t supposed to be the one crying here. “You can’t just let yourself fade away without me, you’re supposed to be the strong one.”

“I am,” Yamamoto hums. His arm tightens around Gokudera’s waist, his shoulderblades so sharp under his shirt Gokudera can see them dig against the fabric before he blinks and his vision falls out-of-focus again. “With you I am.”

“What were you going to  _do_?” Gokudera demands. His hand is twisted between them, his fingers digging in with what must be painful force against the fragility of Yamamoto’s knuckles, but he can’t let go and Yamamoto is humming constantly, now, like the satisfaction of reunion is overflowing his throat and pouring over his tongue. He pushes in closer, opens his mouth to gasp at Gokudera’s shirt like it’s air, twists so his shirt rides up over his hip and his waist fits in against Gokudera’s leg. Gokudera can see the pattern of his ribcage at the bottom of his shirt, the frightening thinness of the other’s body speaking to Yamamoto’s lack of appetite as much as his lack of sleep, and this really isn’t fair at all, Gokudera was never supposed to be the support for the two of them. “Just waste away without me?”

“I need you,” Yamamoto says, like it’s simple, like it’s obvious. He laughs, faint but sincere, and Gokudera wants to close his eyes but he can’t make himself do it, can’t stop drinking in the sight of Yamamoto even frail and exhausted as he is.

Gokudera shakes his head, shoves his fingers in harder against Yamamoto’s hair. “I’m not that important.”

“You are to me,” Yamamoto says, and then he takes an inhale and Gokudera can hear it catch in his throat. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m not,” Gokudera sobs. “I’m not, I’m here, I’m  _fine_.”

“Yeah.” Yamamoto lets the breath go and the threat of tears is gone with it, he’s smiling and shutting his eyes and sighing like there’s nothing else he could possibly want in all the world. “I’m glad.”

Gokudera does shut his eyes, then, ducks his head as the sobs tear up his throat and shudder in his shoulders. He can’t hold back the tears, he’s sure they’re falling damp against Yamamoto’s shoulder, but Yamamoto isn’t speaking, is just inhaling against him like he hasn’t taken a breath in the months since he thought Gokudera had died, and when Gokudera ducks his head in closer Yamamoto turns his head up for the kiss Gokudera wants. It’s damp and shaky, wet with Gokudera’s tears and slow with the exhaustion coming for Yamamoto, but his mouth is familiar, warm and sweet and perfect, and when Gokudera pulls back it’s only to tug Yamamoto around so the other boy is in his lap properly. Yamamoto goes obediently, fits himself in against Gokudera’s legs and winds his arms around the other’s neck instead of his waist, and he’s not nearly heavy enough and Gokudera can feel the sharp lines of his bones at every point they touch, but he’s smiling as he tips in to rest the weight of his head on Gokudera’s shoulder, humming pleasure as he goes limp with exhausted sleep. Gokudera is still crying, the first stormy desperation easing into a steady wave of tears, but Yamamoto is asleep in his arms, breathing easy and warm, and even with his eyes shut he can be certain they are both alive, and together, and right now that’s the most important thing.


End file.
